Emotion Junkie
by Da Fooz
Summary: When memories get to be too much, who can Remy turn to that'll fill the void eating away at him? What counts as his real feelings, and what are nothing more than figments from those around him?
1. Chapter 1

* Author's note: I stopped keeping up with Marvel Comics just after the Age of Apocalypse, so my continuity is way off. Consider this then a strange AU, so I can use my creative license and get to the story I want to tell. The only thing I'm sure of is this is after Gambit has returned from Antarctica. I love the idea of Remy having empathic abilities, so that's been thrown into the blender to see what comes out.

Usual disclaimer. I have no rights to these characters, I make not a dime on this, this is for my own amusement. Some stories just need to be told. Rated M for content and topics. I am way out of practice with my writing so please be gentle with any reviews! *

"I am very sorry, Logan, but once again I must tell you that I do not know where my little brother has vanished off to yet again." Ororo hid her aggravation from her face but Logan could smell her upset mood. Apparently there were still some people that could ruffle the Wind-Rider's serenity, and Remy was one of them.

Warren looked up from his breakfast with his own opinion on the matter. "Who cares? He's probably out either partying or slumming, which for him might mean the same thing. He's worse than a tomcat, we all know that." Warren took a sip from his coffee. "All it means is that he'll come dragging in some time this afternoon to crawl into his own bed. By sunset he'll be back to his usual irritating form."

Logan bit back the low growl. He'd been trying to get the Cajun back into the good graces of his newest adopted family, but the kid wasn't helping his own case lately. Gambit hadn't fallen out during any recent mission, he'd actually been on time for most of the Danger Room exercises, but Logan knew it wasn't enough. There was too much bad blood, too much history, for everything to go back to the way it was. Warren especially had been riding hard on Gambit's case, doing everything he could think of short of just punching the man he considered the source of all his life's anguish. Losing his wings had done more than main his body, it damaged his spirit, and Warren was not about to let up just to make that abundantly clear to the outcast Remy. The feathered wings might've returned, but the heartache was still too fresh for forgiveness to be offered. Logan snorted to himself. Not like that kid would ask for that forgiveness, he blamed himself enough for everyone's pain in life. That young man would carry the world's hurt if it let him, Logan thought to himself, and he wouldn't believe it was enough for what he'd done.

The door to the kitchen opened, and the topic of conversation walked in. Remy looked exhausted from wherever he'd been for the night. Not bothering to talk to anyone sitting around the table and to probably get away from Warren's glare, he picked up his feet and headed further into the mansion. Logan got up and followed, catching the tired Cajun just before he headed up the stairs to the floor his room was on.

"Where were you all night, Gumbo?" The gruff tone belying the older man's concern. Gambit turned around and Logan saw something disturbing. Remy's eyes were practically glazed, his face slack. It was not the usual smirk or frown that usually was on Remy's face.

"Hey, Logan. Just was out, dat's all. Gonna catch some rest, be ready for afternoon Danger Room practices, oui?"

"You look out of it. Are you alright?"

"Oui, just a little tired."

Logan wasn't sure how to ask his next question but it had to come out. "You look, well, you looked drugged." Gambit startled for a moment, then the glazed stare returned. "If you're having a problem, you need to talk to Hank."

That got a little of a rile out of the younger man. "Logan, I ain't done drugs in a long time, an' I don't like dat someone claimin' to be a friend would t'ink I go back to dat foolishness. Now I'm going to bed, gonna forget you asked that, non?"

Logan had to admit, he couldn't smell any tell-tales of drug use, all he could scent from the young man was he'd obviously spent as least part of his night in some woman's bed. That was nothing new so he didn't even bother mentioning it. It was the news that his drinking buddy and teammate had once been involved in drugs that brought on some concern. Logan had known those that couldn't walk away from it for too long before the siren song would lure them back. Still, there was no scent so he couldn't accuse Gambit of anything.

"Yeah, go get some rest. You know Cyke, if he thinks you can't keep up in a Danger Room exercise he ups the pace."

Gambit gave a small laugh. "Ain't dat a truth. I'm just gonna catch dat nap, so I'm all ready for afternoon. Nite Logan." Not bothering to wait for a reply, Remy started up the stairs, leaving Logan curious about what was really bothering the resident Cajun. Usually he was more verbose about night time conquests, at least in Logan's experience of subtly grilling the young man when they'd head out for a night of drinking and shooting pool. Logan decided he'd figure it out later, the boy was obviously exhausted and could use a good run through a shower to top it off.

"Yes, Remy for a time in his life was a drug addict. The Thieves' Guild put an end to that once he was officially a full member of the family." Dr. McCoy looked up from the monitor in front of him. "Now before you jump to conclusions, my friend Logan, as far as I've been able to check him over on the rare occasions I can convince him to come into the Med-Lab, he's not doing that anymore. He only told me about it when Ms. Monroe threatened her little brother with severe bodily harm if he didn't, pardon the expression, come clean about that part of his life."

Logan despised the Med-Lab, it brought to the forefront of his mind too many bad memories. It was, however, the easiest place to talk to Hank without half the mansion overhearing any of the conversation so he'd grabbed his courage in hand and had made his way into the area. He had to know what was up with the young man he was growing to care for more than just as another mutant, a simple teammate. He was well on his way to becoming a good friend, and a good friend did what they could to help each other out of trouble.

"So the Cajun had a habit. Let me guess. Downers, narcotics. He's wired for stereo on his own power, so I'm not thinkin' it was uppers like speed or meth." Logan rolled between his fingers the cigar he was planning on lighting once he was back outside on the grounds. Hank's rule on no smoking in the mansion was annoying but he understood the reasoning. Not everyone in the household had a healing factor to protect them, so him and Remy were often standing on the back porch as they worked on their nicotine needs together.

"You've hit the nail on the head, my Canadian friend. He was smoking heroin and had started the deadly spiral with the needle until his adopted family made it clear he'd be back on the streets if he didn't clean up. So Remy checked himself into a rehabilitation center and came out clean and balanced at the end of his treatment. He's made it clear to both myself and the Professor that he's stayed away from all illicit substances since then. We both believe him, if that's what you are concerned about."

"Balanced? There's nothing in moderation for that boy, how can you call him balanced?"

Turning back to his monitor, Hank started typing as he spoke. "I mean that with his proclivity of risky behavior that is blatantly obvious to anyone he's in contact with for longer than a few minutes, he'd found a working balance that currently is keeping him on an even keel. As much as it bothers the medical community in general and myself in specificity, an addict remains an addict for life, whether they are clean or not. The problem is keeping someone from replacing one addictive substance for another more dangerous one. In our Cajun's case, he smokes too much and gives his best effort to keep up with you when you drink. That urge to fill the void is still there, he's simply turned to more socially acceptable sources for his 'fix'. I do not like it, but I do understand it from a medical standpoint."

Logan quirked an eyebrow. "Considering some of the options out there, Blue, he's better off smoking his cigarettes and having an occasional night of drinkin' with me than him falling back in that death trap. As for risky behavior, we're all in that boat. How many sane and balanced people go slug it out with super-powered beings wearing nothing more than comm-links and spandex? We all get tarred with that brush when it comes to risks."

Hank glanced up from the monitor. "And that is exactly why I rarely ask him to quit, or you for that matter even with your healing factor protecting you. I know those two habits are much better than others he's tried and I do not care to upset the internal balance he currently maintains. He shows up to an exam with shadowy spots in his lungs or liver, then I shall fight that battle with him, but not until then."

"This is news to me." Both Logan and Hank looked up at the entrance into the Med-Lab of a third person. It was Psyclocke, dressed for the Danger Room exercises that were to begin in half an hour. "So he's a junkie. And Xavier lets him stay here, around the younger residents?"

"If you'd been listening since the beginning of the conversation, Betsy, you'd know he's cleaned up, been that way for a while from what I'm understanding from Hank. And since when did you give a damn about Gumbo anyways? You're the one parroting Warren's mouth." Logan usually got along well with the telepath as they both had history together, but it bothered him that she knew some of Remy's struggles. All that the boy needed was Warren to find out some dirty laundry.

Betsy blinked at the gruff tone from Logan. "I won't be running to Warren, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Been peeking where you're not supposed to be?" Logan had not felt an intrusion but her answering the unspoken question added a bit more gruff to his voice.

"No, I could read your face. I'm not completely happy about Gambit being back in the mansion but I'm seeing him put out the effort to fit in so I'm not going to rock the boat against him." She brushed a strand of her lavender hair out of her face. "I'm not too happy either with Warren and the incessant bickering. Gambit made his mistake but I think nearly dying in Antarctica should count for something. We left him behind, and that isn't what X-Men do."

Hank sighed, and turned off the monitor. "We all failed that man. Perhaps we all should give him another chance. After all, being part of this team and family is all about earning another chance."

Logan nodded. "Yeah, this is a place for second chances. I figure if we can all get over ourselves Remy'll settle down and quit stepping out each night. He's after something, I just don't know if he'll find it in some chick's bed."

Psylocke laughed. "If he finds anything, it's a good night's rest without fear of someone here bothering him at three in the morning. He's a physical person, I mean, he's hugged just about all of us when he's in a good mood. When he's down, we all seem to feel it. He's good with words when he wants to be. Are you sure he's not more educated than he lets on? There's intelligence hiding out under his nonchalance and that trademarked smirk."

Hank stood up and pulled a file from it's shelf. "He'll tell us when he's ready to. Until then all we can do is offer support. My current fear is that the animosity from some members of this household will drive him to risky behavior that would lead to a relapse. Internal balance is a difficult thing to maintain with a recovered addict, no matter what the drug of choice was that started the downhill slide. Remy is already unfortunately stuck with an impulsive streak, this could cause him more trouble."

"I'll keep an eye on him, Blue, so he don't notice. He's getting his act together, I don't want him to blow it."

Logan left the Med-Lad, Betsy following along with him. When they passed the door to the Danger Room Betsy set her palm on the lock and waited for the beep that would open the door and let her in. She turned to Logan. "Planning on getting in uniform for today's session?"

Logan shook his head negative. "Nah, I got some thinkin' to do. Something you mentioned got me thinkin' and I want to consider it before I say anything to Kid Creole. Tell Cyke I'm skipping, that'll give him a reason to have a stick up his ass today."

She laughed and headed into the Danger Room. "As if he needs another reason to be a complete prick. I'll let him know. And Logan..."

"Yeah darlin'?"

"If you think of something that'll help Remy, let me know if I can help, alright?"

"Will do Betsy. Now get going, or you'll be the reason for Scott's attitude."


	2. Chapter 2

*Usual disclaimer. I don't own the X-Men, I make zero money off my musings, this is for entertainment purposes only. Read on and enjoy!*

~Evening~

"Where ya headin' Gumbo? I thought you'd be sound asleep after that performance in the Danger Room session." Logan was in the garage and caught the familiar scent of Remy as the younger man silently stalked over to his motorcycle. That he was taking his bike and was dressed to impress let Logan know exactly where Gambit was heading. He was going to find some midnight fun in the clubs and try his luck at going home with some woman that fell for the dazzling demon's eyes and the devil's smirk.

"I'm headin' for a good time, dat's all. I'll be back in de morning, no worries."

"I'd rather you spent the evening shootin' pool with me. You've been on the prowl the last five nights, you can leave the chicks alone an' they can settle for second best where they're at. Come on Gumbo, race ya to Harry's Hideaway, if ya win I'll buy the first round."

That earned a grin from Remy, and Logan hopped on his bike while Gambit was kicking his ride to life. Out of the garage both were red-lining their bikes and it was a close call on the gate opening fast enough for the two men racing for the back roads that would take them into Westchester for the night. The gravel sprayed from the tires as the two raced down the streets, Remy winning the race by only one bike-length. They both were grinning as they walked into Harry's.

"Speak of the devil, and he shows up for a few rounds. Got an I.D. on you yet, kid?"

Remy grinned and shrugged. "Must've left it in my other pants."

"Where'd you leave those other pants, and can you remember her address to get them back?"

That led to a low level blush from the younger man. "Umm, non, can't remember. But I sure she won't mind the extra laundry."

Harry rolled his eyes at Remy as he poured the first round and set out on the counter Logan's choice in beer. "Only you would get away with it. How do you do it, kid? I've seen how the girls here watch you. Care to pass along some tips to a lonely bartender?"

Remy faded around the edges, the grin fading a touch. "It's an old family trick, sorry can't teach it to those that ain't got Cajun blood in 'em. You'll have to go without homme."

Harry didn't notice the faded grin. "Well that sucks. So what has you two in my humble establishment this evening? There's no football for the kid, and no live music tonight for the old man."

Logan reached out for his beer and took a long swig. "The pool table's callin' for me to kick the kid's ass, so we're where the tables are level, the pretzels ain't soggy, and the jukebox is cranked to ten. This is the only place in decent driving distance that fills the bill."

"Glad to know I run a classy establishment. Now the tables are clear tonight, no competitions to run you two out in an hour. Go have fun, let me know when it's refill time."

Remy picked up his drink and followed Logan to one of the open tables. Choosing his cue stick and going to work on the tip with the blue chalk, he let Logan break the first rack. "Looks like you're stripes this time. Ready to get kicked around?"

"I'm not a total loss at dis game, just do better with cards is all. Now you gonna run your mouth the entire time? I just want to relax for the night. Been kind of rough back at de mansion last few weeks." Remy lined up his shot and the ball sank into the pocket.

"Who's been hasslin' ya this time?"

"You want it alphabetical or numerical order, loup garou?" Remy missed the second shot, and Logan took over the table, sinking three solid balls before his luck ran out.

"Let me guess. Warren, Bobby, and Bishop."

"Got it in one try. I know I messed up, I got a lot of mutants killed. But I wanna know, how long I gotta pay for dat mistake? When's enough gonna be enough? Bad enough I got left in the snow, but now it's chilly at the mansion when I'm around. So I just not be around dat often. Makes everyone happier not seein' me all the time."

Even as Logan lined up his next shot, he was waiting for the feeling he'd only recently guessed at. As the younger man talked, Logan felt what he'd been concerned about, but kept his mouth shut for the present. Instead of paying attention to the pool table he watched the other drinkers, seeing if it was just him reacting to the foul mood practically flowing off the younger man. It wasn't only him. One couple in a booth were arguing when not a few minutes before they were smiling, and the bar area was getting testy with the speed of the drinks making it to customers' hands. That was enough proof for Logan. It was time to get Remy too drunk to protect himself mentally so he could ask some deeper questions.

~Much Later~

"Eight ball, corner pocket." Logan sank it with ease while Remy leaned against the table. It was quite a few rounds later and he was well in his cups. "There ya go, you lost that one too. Ready to call it a night Gumbo, and head home?"

"Yeah, dat sounds like a good idea." He put his cue on the rack against the wall and started for the door, only to almost fall over when it opened against the outbound wind

"You going to be able to stay on your bike on the way home? I don't want to explain to Hank I got you toasted then you dropped your ride."

"I'll be fine, I've rode in worse shape before. I just take it easy goin' back is all."

As the two men headed to their motorcycles, Logan waited until Remy was about to kickstart his bike to ask his question.

"So, when are ya going to fess up and admit your other power, Gumbo? You happen to be an empath if I'm figurin' it right." Remy stopped mid-motion and Logan could practically taste the panic rolling off the younger man. His eyes seemed to flash in the darkness of the parking lot, then they closed.

"The Professor, he knows. I asked him to keep it to himself."

"Why?"

He hung his head and finished taking his seat on his motorcycle. "The others, if they knew, they'd t'ink I was nothin' but a wreck. Dat I was takin' feelings from them. It's no fun, I don't like it an' I don't want it. Got enough bad vibes coming off plenty of the X-Men, didn't want to give more reasons not to trust me. Like they t'ink I would peek in on them. It doesn't work like dat, but I can already imagine what Warren or Bobby would say if they found out." He finally looked up at Logan. "Please, don't tell them. I got enough trouble on my plate."

Logan straddled his own bike. "I'll keep it to myself, but they're going to notice someday that when you're around, emotions run high. There's bound to be some trainin' you could do to get more control over that power."

"All trainin' does is make it stronger, harder to ignore. I just keep it bottled tight when I'm 'round everyone else, much as I can. Hard but better than leaking merde all over innocent bystanders." Remy started his motorcycle and headed out of Harry's Hideaway's parking lot. It didn't take a map to see he'd turned his wheels in a direction that wouldn't take him back to the mansion. Logan sighed and started his own bike, turning on the headlight and turning his wheels to the only home he had anymore. He could understand, the kid wasn't ready to go back just yet.

~Morning~

Logan sat in the garage, staring at the empty spot where Remy's motorcycle would be parked and thinking more deep thoughts. It was almost noon and Gambit hadn't returned to the mansion. Logan knew he'd disturbed the young man the night before with his questions. Cursing himself, he stood and ran a hand through his hair. If he'd upset that kid to the point of a relapse, he'd never forgive himself.

Just as he was about to put a call through to Remy's cellphone and hope there was an answer, Logan heard the low rumble of a well tuned motorcycle heading to the garage down the gravel drive. He stood and clicked the button on the interior wall that would open the double doors, then returned to sitting. His ears hadn't deceived him, it was the Cajun's bike. As the young man pulled in and turned off the engine, Logan could see that Remy was exhausted and once again had that glazed look to his startling eyes. He couldn't smell anything but old cigarette smoke and a woman's remnant of scent, but it was obvious the X-Men's resident Cajun was wasted on who knew what.

Logan cleared his throat. "I see you finally found the right road back to the mansion. Care to share how the rest of your night went after you peeled out of Harry's?" He didn't want to trample all over the younger man verbally, but concern pulled more gruff out of him. "Was she worth the effort, Gumbo?"

"Oui, very worth it. Now you gonna keep me from getting inside and ready for this morning's session? I could use a shower, homme, not a lecture." Gambit went to walk by Logan, only to be stopped by a burly arm across the doorway into the mansion.

"I think you're on somethin' that I can't smell. You brave enough to go down to the Med Lab and prove me wrong with a little blood test?"

Logan let the challenge lay between them. Remy's eyes lost a good amount of the glaze, to be replaced with anger. Logan could feel it rolling off the man, rage barely contained. He'd never felt that amount of anger off the younger man before, a rage that could burn through concrete walls if let off the leash.

"Gambit, he take your test, and he'll come through clean. You willing to risk a friendship over this? I ask 'cause once I pass it, you not gonna get to hang out and watch me get drunk with you anymore. Dat clear?"

Remy shoved Logan's arm out of his way as he stormed into the mansion. "Let's get dis over with, Logan. I ain't got all day to prove myself to you."

~Med Lab~

"I ran it twice, Logan. You saw the results both times. No drugs other than copious amounts of nicotine, and a touch of alcohol still circulating through his veins. He's clean of anything that I could find with those tests, so I can understand his... annoyance... with us once the first set was completed."

Logan stood to one side as Hank picked up the remains of the cart of supplies he'd used to draw Remy's blood. The young man had kicked it on his way out of the Med Lab, knocking vials and gauze all over the floor.

"He was royally pissed. And he's got all rights to that feelin'. He trusted me, and I pretty much accused him to his face of being back on drugs. He's going to take a while to simmer down, and he's right to be that riled up." Logan looked down at his hands. "He's had me and Storm to talk to since he got back from Antarctica, and I just blew a big hole in his skimpy safety net. Damn. Now I feel lousy. I let him down, and he didn't need that."

Hank dumped the ruined labwork supplies into the trashcan, then sighed. "He is one hard nut to crack. He doesn't let many people in past his wall of sarcasm and silence. Once again, I failed him by agreeing to this test. You don't carry all the blame for this one, my friend. I helped make a mess of this situation as well."

Logan offered up a wry grimace. "There's somethin' about that boy, that pushes everyone to misjudge him or just ignore him. How's he manage that?"

Hank laughed, though there was not much energy behind it. "He's our resident Cajun mystery. That might be all there is to it, he's from a kind of life none of us could ever imagine living though, to come out the other side grinning."


	3. Chapter 3

*Usual disclaimers. I have no rights to the X-Men, and I don't make any money off this. Read and enjoy! I do apologize for the delay, I recently started college and I had no idea going back to school was going to take up so much of my time. I should be better about getting chapters up in the future.*

~Night~

Psylocke stood by the kitchen table and debated with her thoughts. It was common knowledge around the mansion that Logan had practically forced Remy into a drug test and hadn't been seen since. He'd even left behind his comm-link so there was no way to track him down with technological means, no one had bothered to put a tracker on his bike that was usual standard policy in case something happened to one of the X-Men while they were away from the mansion. All anyone could do was wait and hope he came back.

"The longer he's gone, the better. I don't understand why anyone would give a damn where that murderer is." Warren was in the kitchen getting a drink before heading to bed. "Why the long face Betsy? Do you want him to come back?"

She sighed and took a seat at the table. "Warren, I care for you deeply but you're not helping the situation. How much will Remy have to pay before you accept him back? He's saved your life as a member of our team, and he's more than suffered for his mistake."

Warren slammed his empty water glass into the sink, shattering the glass. "His 'mistake' cost me my wings! Some little mistake! How many died that night, for his mistake?"

"I'm not saying he should walk away from that, but when is enough going to be enough for you? You've become a bitter man, and I'm not sure I like the change."

"What?" At that comment Warren turned from glaring at the slivers of glass scattered in the sink. "What do you mean, bitter?"

Betsy sighed. Her mood was dark and getting worse. "All you do lately is complain. You've complained about the food even when you're not the cook for the night. You complain that Scott is out of his mind with all the Danger Room exercises. You were barking at Bobby the other afternoon, because he parked too close to your Mercedes."

"I... I'd not noticed. I've just been on edge since Remy came back. I'm sorry if I've been a pain, and I'll apologize to Bobby in the morning. You're right, I'm a little out of line."

"Dat's news to me, homme."

Warren turned around in slow motion, trying to control his facial expression. The past person he'd want to see him having an argument with Betsy was standing by the kitchen door from the back patio. Remy looked ragged around the edges but had his smirk well in place.

"You've been out of line, I give you dat. Now, you gonna continue your show and keep griping at your lady friend?" Remy leaned back against the doorframe and took off his sunglasses. "Been wanting to talk to you, Warren. I ain't gonna cower 'round you anymore, got dat nice and clear? You might not like me being around, but I got just as much right as you to stay here. So just leave me be."

Warren stood in shock, his mouth hanging open. Where had the nerve come from? Then he got pissed. "You've got to be drunk, to talk to me like that in front of anyone, let alone Betsy. How drunk are you? How many lives did you risk driving to the mansion tonight?"

Remy grinned. "I got a taxi ride. I didn't risk nobody, thanks for the concern."

Betsy spoke up. "I thought you were on your bike. Where did you leave it, is it going to be safe overnight?"

"It should be, left it in a parking garage. I came back to see if someone go wit' me and get it back here. I'd ask Warren here, but then I'd be picking feathers out of the spokes. Worse t'ing to hit, is a pigeon. It be messy."

Both Betsy and Warren blinked. This was a side of the Cajun no one had seen. Warren was feeling waves of both anger and fear washing through him, and it was all he could do to stay calm in front of the provocation from Gambit. Betsy also felt those waves, but something dawned on her. The emotions were coming from an outside source, not her own body.

Finally Warren found his voice. "You little shit. I could flatten you for that. Comparing me to a pigeon?"

The smirk faded, replaced with a snarl. "Wings break, and they heal. How long you gonna blame me for your misery? You was a pain in the ass I bet before you got hurt, now you just have a handy excuse for your nastiness. Poor little rich boy, got busted and now he's an ass to everyone dat ain't in his tax bracket."

Warren stood still for a breath, then launched himself at Gambit, but his target had already slipped to the side and he instead hit the door. The doorframe shuddered from the impact, then again as Gambit grabbed a handful of Warren's shirt and slammed him again into the hard wood door. One of the glass panes in the door cracked into a spider-web from the second hit. Warren couldn't get his footing, no matter which way he turned there were arms grabbing him and introducing him to the splintering doorframe each time he bounced off the wood.

After several more meetings with the door, Warren slid to the floor dazed. Gambit stood off to one side with his teeth bared. "You wanna dance with Gambit? Fine, I kick you around here or in the Danger Room. You ever had to fight for a meal, spoiled little rich kid? Ain't much like a scuffle on the streets, but you'd not know what dat feels like."

"Remy, that's enough." Ororo had heard the commotion and entered the kitchen. "I think that you have made your point. Now I think you need to go to bed and sleep off your drinking. You can find a proper way to phrase an apology to Warren in the morning, in front of the team."

Remy looked over to Storm, then Betsy. "I still need someone to help me get my bike. Stormy, you know if Logan still mad at me?"

That was when Betsy interrupted. "I can help, Remy, if you give me a few minutes to change. I'd like to talk with you, if that's alright. I think Logan headed out earlier, he's not on the grounds as far as I can tell." Everyone turned to look at Psylocke.

"You'd help him out, after what he's done to me?" Warren was getting back on his feet and had an expression of shock across his face. "If you do go with him, when you get back you can stay in your own room tonight. I'm taking my little rich ass to a shower, then to bed. Alone. Do you get the point?"

It was all Psylocke could do not to laugh at Warren. He looked pitiful standing there with his shirt torn and his hair all mussed up. Even Gambit drunk and in his 'swamp rat chic' looked better in comparison.

"Oh, I understand quite well. Did he hit you in the pride?" Warren's jaw hit the floor for a second time that night as Betsy started walking through the door.

"I'll be in the garage waiting, Remy, whenever you're ready I'll call a cab to get us to where your bike is parked."

As Remy walked out of the kitchen, Warren finally put his jaw back in place and turned to Ororo. "What in the world did I just see? Betsy is going to help him, after what he did to me? I don't understand."

Storm gave a simple smile in return. "I do believe that was an interesting demonstration of social dynamics."

"Huh?"

"The girl is heading out with the winning male after a challenge. I would recommend you read up on social psychology. It would be unfortunate if one of the original class of students could not keep up with the current teens enrolled at this institute of learning." With that, Ororo left the kitchen and walked up the stairs to her loft room. Warren stood in place for a few more moments, then shrugged and stumbled to his own room. His head hurt, and he was convinced something was sprained in his wrist.

~After Midnight~

"What possessed you to park in this kind of neighborhood, Remy? It's like you're asking for someone to mess up your bike." Psylocke glanced around at the downtrodden area of downtown, wondering how many eyes were watching them as she and Remy got out of the taxi. Several of the street lights were busted out, and the buildings each had gang tags painted on them in bright day-glo colors.

"T'ing is, most won't touch a bike here, afraid it belong to someone they know and don't want trouble with. Safer to park here than with the high rollers near Times Square." They walked over to Remy's motorcycle that was parked in a half full pay parking lot. "It also helps, I gave the lot watcher a good tip. He knows I come 'round often, so he keeps more eyes on my property than he'd usually give."

"Oh."

"Money talks, cherie, if you know the lingo. Flash too little, get in trouble. Flash too much, get mugged. You never knew dat?"

She blushed. "I'd... I'd not thought about it that way, to be perfectly honest. I grew up with a chauffer for the family outings." She stuck her tongue out at Remy. "Are you going to call me a spoiled little rich bitch?"

He laughed while pulling his keys out of his pocket. "Miss Betsy, I know better than to call you dat. Now get your tongue back in your mouth or put it to good use." Betsy joined in laughing, then had a sudden impulse.

Reaching out and grabbing Remy's shirt collar, she pulled him close and gave up a spectacular kiss. She could feel waves of hunger and lust rush over her, but her mind was elsewhere before it once again dawned on her that these were not her emotions.

She pulled back her face, her body still in his arms. A fleeting thought that escaped was he had strong arms, toned and warm under the jacket Remy was wearing against the chill winds that were occasionally whispering between the buildings around them.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mister LeBeau?"

"Nope, dat would get me rightly flattened by your highly possessive Mister Worthington."

"How do you know he's possessive?"

"Anyone can see dat he's thinking you his property. What you see in him, cherie?"

"I've known him for years, Remy. There's a connection."

He shrugged. "I know plenty of people handfuls of years. I don't live by their beck and call. You deserve more than dat high-strung asshole."

She snuggled deeper into Remy's arms. What was it she was feeling? She'd had momentary attraction to Gambit before, he was easy on the eyes as Jean mentioned before, but this was new to her. It felt different, if felt desperate.

Remy broke the silence. "You know how to ride?"

"What?!"

He laughed. "A bike, cherie. You know how to ride a bike?"

She blushed again and pulled herself out of his arms. "Umm... I've had a few lessons."

"In dat case we lucky. I've sobered up enough, I can get us back to the mansion without dropping the bike... or you... to the concrete."

"Oh, that would most likely end with my possessive boyfriend kicking your ass."

"Let's avoid dat, I got lucky when it came to fighting him tonight. He thought me an easy mark so he didn't think. He's got lots of skills, he just didn't use them."

"You are a wise man, swamp rat."

Remy's mild mood faded a bit around the edges. Betsy could feel the letdown, and felt stupid for reminding him that he could never really go home. Then he shook his head and motioned to the bike. "See, all safe and still in one piece. Now we go home."

"What do I do?" Betsy looked at the gleaming Harley Davidson motorcycle spotlighted in the overhead light. To her it looked like a deathtrap.

Remy straddled the bike and helped her get into place behind him. "It be easy. Just hold onto me and lean when I lean. Otherwise I gotta fight to keep us upright. You'll figure it out in a few miles, I promise."

As he keyed the motorcycle to life, he had to take a dig at her. "What did you t'ink I meant about riding? Someone's mind taking up residence in a local gutter?"

She could feel his silent laughter. Instead of slapping him Betsy buried her face in the leather of his jacket. "Oh, just get us home, it's late and I want to go to bed."

"Whose bed, cherie?"

She couldn't resist, the innuendo was too thick. She reached around and tweaked his chest through his shirt, making him yelp. "My bed, and I plan it to be a solitary nap. now get this mechanical monstrosity in motion!"

"As my passenger insists. Back to the mansion, each of us to our own lonely cold beds."


	4. Chapter 4

*Usual disclaimer. I have zero rights to the X-Men, and I do not make any money at this. Read and enjoy!*

~Morning~

"... and I was out of line. Warren, I apologize for beating you against the kitchen door last night."

Scott looked back and forth between the two men. Everyone knew the fight was far from over between Remy and Warren, but Scott's hope was that this could be a new beginning for them. After taking his glances at the two, he knew the truce was already fragile and they'd be at it again soon. His hope on that was they'd take it to the Danger Room where no property could get damaged. Gambit's powers made anything he could throw into a deadly weapon, and Scott was relieved to hear all that was broken was the door frame and some glass. It could have been much worse.

Warren's face was puffy and he glared at Remy. "I accept your apology for exactly what it's worth."

Remy returned the glare with a grin of his own. "Fine by me. Dat good enough, Cyclops?"

Scott looked at both men one more time and internally sighed. It was a losing battle so he left the field. "Yes, Gambit, that's good enough. Now if I'm understanding correctly, Logan has you fixing the doorframe and the broken windows this morning?"

"Oui, since he's the one in charge of maintenance I asked him if I could handle repairs. I broke it, I gotta pay to fix it."

"Good. Now if you want to burn off some energy, perhaps you can take yourself to the Danger Room? It would cut down on repair bills. Is that understood? This is to both of you, I doubt I'm getting the entire story so I'm sure there's two guilty parties."

"Oui, I understand."

"I get it Cyke. No more tussling in the kitchen."

With that, Warren headed back upstairs and Remy walked his way to the kitchen to take a closer look at the damage. Logan was already sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of coffee.

"There you are, Gumbo. Thought you were going to bail on me."

"I'd not do dat to you, mon ami. I might be mad at you, but you about one of the only ones 'round here I can talk to and not end up guilty for something. You t'ink Stormy will still talk to me after last night?"

Logan finished off his coffee and put the mug into the sink. The glass from the night before had been cleaned out by one of the other young students after being offered a ten dollar bill from Warren.

"I think she'll still talk to her little brother, though I'm sure she'd be happier with you if you cut down on the drinkin' an' stepping out every other night."

Remy started sorting through the wood slats that were stacked next to the door, debating on which one would work best in holding the new glass panes in place. "I gotta do something, or I get overwhelmed."

"What do you mean, overwhelmed? Is Bobby still on your case too?"

"No, it ain't him, or anyone here. Been remembering shit I'd rather forget. It happens, comes in waves when I get too much to deal with."

Logan glanced around, and took a deep breath through his nose. He could tell no one was in earshot but he still lowered his voice. "Does this have to do with your empathic abilities?"

"Logan... don't set me up, not right now." Remy's eyes pleaded from across the kitchen. "Don't flush me out."

Logan picked up the handsaw and tossed it over to Gambit. "No one's near enough to hear a damned thing. Now answer me or I'll not help you with your repairs."

In spite of himself Remy smiled. "I know how to fix window panes, but thanks for dat offer of help. Now back to your probing question, yeah, it's got a little to do wit' it. When I can't concentrate hard enough, shit starts leaking. I'll be 'round someone in a foul mood, then I get in the dumps remembering."

"What're you rememberin' Gumbo? I know you've not had the model life, but other than the Morlocks, what's hauntin' you?"

Remy took some determined swings of the hammer on the cut wood, nailing it into place. "I don't wanna talk about it, stirs everything up then I can't sleep or think. My head gets filled up with other people's emotion garbage."

"And that's bad?"

"Oui. Imagine not knowing if your emotions are yours, or if it's something coming off of someone else. I don't sleep well for a reason. It's hard to shut everyone out, too much training wit' either the Professor or Jean. Lot of sharp and concentrated minds 'round here, hard to block it all out."

Logan handed over the long strip of board while Remy got out a few more nails out of the box sitting on the floor. "I can see where that would be a problem. That's got to hurt."

"Not all of it, some emotions very fun to ride along with. It's just hard to set it up where I can catch ahold of dat rush."

"Rush? Like a drug high?"

Remy blushed and turned his face out of view.

"Answer me damn it. That's why you're stepping out an' partying. You're after that rush, that's the new drug I keep seeing on you!"

"Logan... s'il vous plait, don't go there." Remy set down the hammer and slumped in his stance. "It's not all like dat, believe me."

Logan was riled up, and it showed on his face. "You're using those chicks to get off in more ways than one. You were the one sayin' that you didn't peek, you didn't take, but here you are taking from innocent ladies for you're own head rush!"

"It's not like dat homme, and I prefer you mellow out. You of all bodies here know I don't do well 'round heavy moods. Right now you about choking me."

Logan threw up his hands. "You've got problems, kid, if you think what you're doing is right. I'm willing to bet those ladies aren't pure as the driven snow, but you're just using them to get your fix!"

Remy leveled his eyes at Logan, the rage smoldering in their crimson and midnight depths. "I use them, an' they use me. We both go to sleep content." Remy glared at the older man until Logan dropped his own glare. He simply couldn't stand the level of hatred in those startling eyes.

As he turned away, Remy took the opportunity to head out the repaired door. "I be back later. When everyone's calmer." He gently closed the door behind him, leaving Logan standing in the kitchen wondering whose hatred he was feeling. Did the Cajun hate him, his drinking buddy, or was it his hatred for himself?

~Three Nights Later~

"This is getting ridiculous Jean. What do you mean you can't track him with Cerebro?" Logan was chomping on an unlit cigar, his hands digging into the material on the back of the chair sitting in front of him. "You can pinpoint just about any mutant on the face of this planet, and you can't find one out of control Cajun?"

Jean rubbed her eyes. "With his bio-kinetic powers, he's hard to reach mentally from across the room. He just slides out of grasp, and that's practically at round zero. Now, he's not even in that range. He blends in, I can't find his unique signature. I've had luck before in finding him by bouncing off team mates. He's not around anyone that I know personally to check through their eyes on where Remy is."

"Well shit."

Jean shrugged. "Pretty much, until he wants to be found, I'm not going to have any luck on locating him. I've not had a real chance to spend time working with him on mental resistance, so I don't even have a real 'taste' on how his mental voice sounds. I'm sorry Logan, but I'm not the one that's going to find him."

As Jean headed for the door to the living room, Logan stopped her with some words. "So if I can find someone that knows his mental voice, they'd stand a better chance of finding our lost Cajun?"

Jean nodded. "Yes, but I think the only people that fit that description might be back in New Orleans with the guilds. Remy's not been in any training or mental contact with any of the X-Men as far as I know."

Logan stood thinking, then grinned. "Thanks Red, I think you gave me an idea."

"Really? Care to enlighten me?"

He shook his head negatively. "I want to test it out before I bring you the show. Don't worry, my idea just might work. If it does..."

"Well, let me know. Remy is not my most favorite person, but I'm concerned. He's been out of the mansion for too long, and I get the feeling he's not in the best state of mind."

"You could say that. Now get some rest, you look beat."

With that Logan headed out of the living room and up the stairs on the ladies' side of the mansion. The floor-plan of the mansion was that women and men were on opposite sides of the building, to keep down on razzing and underage fraternization. Logan knew by scent there was still some playing around between the genders, but as long as no one came down hurt or pregnant he didn't think there was much that would stop the interaction. He smiled to himself while thinking, leave it to the adults to spend the night in others' rooms, all the while telling the teens to cool their high running hormones.

He knocked on a bedroom door, then waited. Finally the door opened, revealing a very sleepy Elisabeth wrapped in an oversized robe. "What is it? Logan? It's eleven at night. Is there something wrong?"

"Yup, we're still missing one Cajun. I got a question for you, if you're up to helping Remy out like you said you wanted to."

Psylocke started blinking the tired out of her eyes. "Let me get dressed, I'll meet you in the game room."

"Alright, meet you there."

Ten minutes later Logan was sitting in front of one of the vintage arcade consoles that took one corner of the game room. The billiards table was visible under the green shaded hanging light over it, the only light source in the room.

"Logan?"

"Over here Betsy. I got to ask you a question, but first I got to know somethin'."

She sat down, her soft blue jeans brushing the fabric of the metal legged chair pulled out for her. "What do you want to know?"

"The night you went with Gumbo to get his bike... did you get close to him?"

She blinked, then blushed. "What do you mean by 'close'? I did ride on the back of that death trap of a bike. So we were technically close."

Logan grimaced. "I mean, did you get close to him mentally? Did you feel anything off him?"

"He... he did something, I could feel his mood for a few moments. I originally brushed it off as my own emotions, but... it didn't feel the same way I usually do."

Logan sighed. "This is between you, me, and the walls in here, but I think you've got it on the tip of your tongue. You can tell me, I know Remy's latest secret, and I you do too."

"He's has empathic abilities. I felt them the night we went for his motorcycle."

Logan lit his cigar and took a few puffs. "Did you get enough of a sample that you could use Cerebro and find him?"

Psylocke blinked at that. "It was only for a moment or two, I don't know if I could. With Cerebro, it's more set for the Professor or Jean to access it. I've not spent a lot of time working with that machine."

He leaned forward in his chair. "I got a bad feelin' that our resident Cajun is in serious trouble, an' no one's going to be able to find him in time. Are you willing to at least try?"

"I'll see what I can do. Logan..."

"Yeah darlin'?"

"There's so much self hatred in that man. How does he stand himself?"

"That's just it. He can't, and it's tearing him apart at the seams."


	5. Chapter 5

*Usual disclaimer. I do not make any money writing this, and I do not have rights to the Marvel characters held within. There you go, a faster update rate. Read and enjoy!*

~That Night~

Psylocke had always felt more than a little intimidated by Cerebro. It was specifically designed for Professor Xavier, and Jean was the other prodigy that spent training time with it, but with the Professor out of the country on business and Jean not able to help this time, it was left to her. Taking a deep breath and setting the head piece into place, she waited for the familiar sinking feeling as she powered on the technological miracle.

There it was, the astral realm, the colors taking on shades that she had no name for. Concentrate, Elisabeth told herself. Wandering the ether was not her goal, finding where Remy was hiding was her main concern. Thinking back, she relived those moments of anger and lust, that taste of desperation she felt while in Remy's arms that night. Where are you, she wondered, that no one can find you?

She knew his habit for going out at night led him to New York City, the city that never slept. Was he asleep in some woman's arms, ignoring his cell phone for a cheap thrill with an unknown woman? That thought irritated her, but it gave her focus. There were millions of people in New York, she needed a focus.

Her voice was dreamy and floating as she spoke to Logan that was standing off to one side. "Do you know any of the clubs Remy goes to? Somewhere I can start the search? There's a lot of real estate to New York."

Logan spoke slowly, watching the lights from the computer flicker and hum. "He's talked about a place called the Whirling Dervish, said it was like a club of the same name back in his home town. Does that help?"

"I don't know, let me look. If he's been there someone's bound to have a mental image of him so I could go from there." Betsy closed her eyes and mentally gave instructions to Cerebro, highlighting the area Logan was speaking of. So many faces, so much primping and preening. It was a meat market in the worst way. "Leave it to Gambit to pick out a slummy club for his hunting grounds."

Logan laughed low. "He's not one to go for the cream of the crop. When he slums, he knows where to look for a fast ride."

"Does he sell himself that short?"

"I think we've all been falling for the illusion of a man in control of his destiny. There's one broken kid hiding behind experience and that smirk of his."

"Quit talking unless I ask a question. It's distracting."

"Sorry. Do your thing, and find him."

She grinned. "Why, yes sir."

Flickering images. People on the dance floor, at the bar, in the restrooms. The blaring music, the beat heavy and thumping through the walls and floor. Had anyone seen Gambit? Did he register in anyone's vision? Betsy hated rummaging through memories, it was a type of invasion she'd been warned about by Xavier as immoral, but certainly there was a good reason to bend that rule tonight?

Flip, flip, look, peek... "He was there earlier. He left with two women, they were sisters."

"Do you know where they went?"

"Hold on... the bouncer at the door had to be checking licenses as they came in. Let me look, see if he's got an image of their license."

"How's that going to help us?"

"It might give us an address, or a last name to look up."

Thinking, rummaging, oh that's loud... "Got it! There's an address and names. Let me see if he's there..."

Flying over the city, nothing more than a thought in the air, Psylocke followed the streets until she came to the apartment building listed on the driver's license. Was Remy there? Was it the right location, they might have moved and not changed their information, making the work useless.

"I know that emotion taste. He's there!"

"What's he doing Betsy?"

"Umm... oh!" She blushed and shut down Cerebro in a hurry, the images pouring over her mind fading as the connection came to an end.

"From your expression, I got a good idea what he's up to."

She shook her head. "Not quite. His mind is practically screaming, there's something wrong that he's ignoring. I think..."

"What? What do you think?"

"I think he's overloaded and about to lose consciousness. Whatever he's feeling, it's too much of a rush."

Logan growled to himself. "He's still a damned junkie, he's just found another way to get his high. And from the sound of it, he's about to melt his brain." Logan reached out and grabbed Betsy's arm. "Come on, we can take one of the vans. We've got to get him out of there before he pops a mental circuit breaker and ends up a burnt out wreck."

~Just After Midnight~

"Hello? Who is it?" The voice on the other side of the door sounded hesitant, female, and young. Logan sighed. The trail ended here, he could smell from around the closed door the scents of the two women and a certain Cajun, but that was all he could smell over the stench coming out of the hallway carpeting. He hated going into the city, there were so many overwhelming scents that he usually returned to the mansion with a pounding headache.

"It ain't the police, no need to get your knickers in a twist. Look, can you open the door?"

Betsy spoke up. "We're not here to rob you, or hurt you. We're looking for a friend that might be here." She sent soothing thoughts to the panicked mind on the other side of the door, hinting that the strangers she was afraid of could help her and meant no harm.

The door opened a few inches. A set of faded gray eyes peeked through the space available. "You're not cops or robbers?"

"No, we're not. Can we come in?" Betsy filled her words with as many soothing thoughts as she could, still tasting the tinfoil tang of nervousness coming from the young woman.

"Yeah... I guess so." The door closed for a moment, and there was the rattling of a burglar chain being slid out of the way. Then the door re-opened all the way.

Logan and Betsy entered the darkened apartment. Logan now knew without a doubt that Remy was there, his scent was impossible to mistake for someone else. Betsy didn't bother with the overhead lights, but closed the door behind them.

"My sister... she's not waking up. I thought to call a doctor or police or someone... I'm sorry, did you tell me your names?"

Betsy looked over to Logan, the concern on her face obvious. Logan 'heard' her in his mind. ( She's feeling the effects of whatever Remy's putting out. Think of it like a drug, she's got a contact high. ) Logan nodded slowly. This woman was in no danger, to herself or them.

"It's alright, our name's aren't important. May we see your sister and the guy you brought here earlier?"

The young lady pointed to a half closed door. "I think they're in there... oh, my head feels funny, I think I'll have something to drink. My mouth is so dry..." She wandered in the direction of the tiny kitchen, and started searching through the cupboards for a cup.

"Betsy, he's in there." Logan pointed to the half open door. "But I can hear it from here, his breathing's slow, real slow. Can you sense anything from him?"

Betsy didn't answer but walked over to the door and finished opening it. A liquor bottle tinked against the bottom of the wood door, rolling out of sight behind the wall. "Remy? Are you alright?" There was no answer.

She entered the room, the scent of alcohol and sex strong enough that even her senses noticed them. There were two motionless forms in the bed, tangled in the sheets. One had a head of bottle blond hair, the other's head under a pillow. Taking a moment to check the other woman, she closed her eyes for a moment then sighed.

"She's a very low grade telepath, that's why she's still out of it. She absorbed more of the outpouring of emotions, but given a day or two she should be fine."

Logan grunted in reply, then moved the pillow off the face of the other person. Glazed eyes greeted him. "Remy, fun's over. Get your ass out of that bed and let's get back to the mansion."

There was no response. "I'm not playing around Gumbo. Come on." Logan shook a bare shoulder of the younger man, but there was still no returning movement.

"Is there a problem, Logan?"

The older man did more than a gentle shake, practically bouncing Remy on the bed springs. "Damn it, he's out to lunch. He's not going to be able to walk out of here. Help me get him into some pants, the world doesn't need a peep show."

It took both of them a few minutes to get Remy decently dressed and down to the van. He remained boneless the entire time, not fighting but offering no assistance. Logan got him into one of the back seats and buckled him in securely, then got behind the wheel of the vehicle as Psylocke settled into the front passenger seat.

"I'll call ahead, and let Hank know to have a bed prepped for Remy."

"Good thinking Betsy." Logan's eyes remained on the road as the left the city and started down the country roads that led to Westchester and the mansion. "Is he going to be alright? I'd hate for him to die and then I have to kick his ass for being a damned fool."

"He should recover, once this rush wears off. If this is what's been his habit the last month, it's no wonder he finally hit overload. Too many emotions running rampant in his mind."

"Can you reach him in there?"

Betsy shook her head. "If I go in there now the wave he's riding might drag me along too. I'm not that brave, to feel what he's riding on right now."

Ignoring the no smoking sticker on the dashboard, Logan lit up his cigar. "I hope he's not going to be too embarrassed when he finds out how he got home tonight. There's nothing quite like a scalded Cajun when it comes to attitude."

"Oh, isn't that the truth."

"We're whistlin' by a graveyard, Betsy, you and I both know it. He's addicted to somethin' again. And how do you wean someone off emotions when he's a damned empath?"


	6. Chapter 6

*Usual Disclaimer. I have no rights to the X-Men, nor do I make any money writing this. Sorry for the small cliff hanger last chapter, but I had to surrender to the sleep monster. I was a tired Fooz and the creative muse left for a while.*

~Afternoon~

"Good afternoon to you, Remy. Welcome back home." Hank checked one of the monitors that was connected to his patient and shook his head. "How are you feeling?"

Remy sat up and tugged at the lines connecting him to the machines. "I feel fine, garcon. How did I end up back here, in the Med-Lab?"

Dr. McCoy started disconnecting the monitors and shutting down the machinery. "You can thank our resident Canadian and Ms. Braddock for your ride home. Now please be honest with me. How is your head feeling?"

Remy ran a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his face. "I feel... muzzy. Yeah, dat's a good word for it. Muzzy."

"That's not a very technical word, but a very good descriptive one. That would be the side effect of the injection I gave you when you were brought in, it was to settle out your empathic abilities." Remy looked up from his sitting position startled.

"It was Logan, he told on me didn't he."

Hank sighed. He knew this would cause rifts in Gambit's friendship with the older man. "It was for your own good. Your synaptic firing sequence was greatly out of balance, and you were risking burnout. It was either I bring you down with an injection, or you'd be put in a Genosha collar. I decided you'd forgive me easier if I avoided the collar."

Remy offered up a wan smile. "You be right, I'm better not wearing one of those again. Now do I get to catch a shower?" The smile morphed into a grin. "I could use some washing off, if dat's within doc's rules."

McCoy nodded and pushed the cart with the monitors out of the way. "Yes, getting nice and refreshed is allowable, but then you have an appointment that the Professor insists you attend."

"He's back?" Hank could practically taste the sudden overflowing of nerves. That was the last piece of the puzzle, the proof he needed to finally believe Logan about Remy's empathic abilities.

"Alas, no, Xavier is still in Scotland working with Dr. MacTaggart. However I took the liberty to contact him and ask his professional opinion on a treatment plan."

Remy sat still for a few breaths, then sighed. "What kind of treatment plan you got cooked up for me? An' over what?"

"You know quite well what kind of treatment. You are once again addicted to a substance that might, to use the vernacular, fry your brain. You've shown very little if any control over your empathic skills, and now you've been caught red handed in an overdose." Ignoring the glare coming from the younger man, Hank continued. "The Professor has made it very clear to you, that if you returned to addiction he would assist in every way possible for your recovery. So he planned ahead for this eventuality."

Remy studied his hands, checking his fingernails. "Once a junkie, always a junkie in the Professor's eyes? Nice to know he trusts me dat much."

Hank couldn't stay firm in his voice any more. "It's not like that and you know it, my Cajun friend. He has your best interests at heart and wants to see you once again in balance. He's not judging you, or belittling you. He simply sees the need for a refresher course in self control."

Remy sighed and got to his feet. Mechanically he brushed his hair back again, failing to get strands from in front of his eyes. "Well, not like I got a choice in this."

"You do have a choice, Remy. You could be sucked back into that pit of despair, or you can return to your freedom. It's all up to you, what you choose to do."

He snorted in return. "No real choice there, homme. I like sleeping indoors on clean sheets."

Hank smiled. "Then I'm sure you'll do quite well. Your first meeting with Jean will be later this evening, after you've had a chance to clean up and get into cleaner smelling laundry."

Remy quirked an eyebrow at that. "Meeting... with Jean? I don't get it."

"On top of her skills as a telepath and telekinetic mutant, she's also a licensed therapist. You will be speaking to her about what's driven you to your current unfortunate situation." McCoy rested a hand on Remy's shoulder. "There's nothing to be afraid of, she's very professional in her counselor role here at the mansion."

"Yah, dat's what scares me. She can see through a body, and I don't like dat feeling 'round her. Great, Scott's gonna kill me if I step out of line."

Hank laughed. "Scott is his own bundle of neuroses, but that's a topic for another conversation. Please take full advantage of the abilities of the teaching staff here, you might be surprised on what you'll be able to learn."

"I get it, I see what I can stand an' go from there."

~Two Evenings Later~

His hands were the center of his attention. The usually well manicured nails were ragged around the edges, the cuticles picked to shreds. Still, Remy couldn't look up from them as he spoke.

"It was no big t'ing, really Jean. Gambit be fine wit' dat memory."

There it was again, Jean noted to herself. When a memory was painful or he wanted to discount it, Remy would refer to himself in the third person and by his codename. It was all she could do not to reach over the desk and give him a fierce hug in sympathy. She could see his hands and their minor tremor, the only outward sign of his nervousness.

"Remy." No answer. "Remy, burying your memories won't make them go away. We've spoken for hours, and still you keep yourself wrapped up behind towering walls. What are you avoiding? I won't go gossiping to everyone, this is a secure doctor-patient relationship I'm trying to build here."

Remy sighed, and stuffed his hands under his arms, slumping down in the overstuffed chair. "I know, just don't like talking 'bout myself. I like to blend in better than dat."

"Why do you want to blend in?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "If I stand out, more likely to get caught. It common knowledge I was a thief. Dat line of work, standing out not very healthy."

"Your line of work as you put it, if they knew you were a thief how did you get close enough to do anything to begin with?"

She felt the walls crumble in his mind. Gone was the sure of himself Gambit they knew. "The empathic skills, they let me get close. Hard to turn out someone dat can pass along a real good time between the sheets."

Jean thought about that admission. Finally she spoke. "You seduced your way in, and rode along the empathic rush to get your target."

His answer was almost inaudible. "Oui."

"How did that bother you?"

"It bothered me lots, Jean. When dat gets rolling, I got no way of knowin' what's my emotions, or hers. Go from one mark to another, it all gets bundled up an' I can't find me anymore. Caught in the rush, I'd end up in my room tryin' to sort it all out and I failed. So I found a way to come down, so I could sleep wit'out being devoured by emotions dat weren't mine. It was a way out."

Jean took her own deep breath. There was the source, right in front of her. "So you started doing drugs to settle out that rush, so you could find you again as you put it. Did it work?"

Remy sighed, and leaned back in the overstuffed chair, finally taking his attention off his hands and stared at the ceiling for a few blinks before he closed his eyes. "It worked for a while. Then what it took to find normal got to be more than what the family considered acceptable. So I went to rehab."

"But no one thought to get you some sort of training to help you control the empathic abilities that were causing the trouble in the first place. Why not?"

Remy laughed but it wasn't a happy sound. "Thieves don't have powers, Jean, so no one to train anybody in them. Assassins would get powers, but already controllable. So no one to help out anyone. No way my family would cut a deal wit' the Assassins anyways, the truce was too shaky for dat kind of work."

Jean sat thinking for a moment. Then she continued, on a different track. "You were doing fine as far as we could tell when you joined us here at the mansion. What changed?"

That got a spark of anger out of Remy, and she felt it come across the table and prick her mental shields. "You gotta ask, what happened? I got found out, Jean, 'bout the Morlocks. Got my ass handed a death sentence from a girl I thought cared 'bout me. Everyone took her words as truth, an' no one came to rescue Gambit. You left Gambit to die, but he didn't. Now I paying for that crime."

"Crime? The Morlock Massacre?"

"Non. For living when I shoulda died."

Jean sat back, her face blank of the emotions running rampant in the room, both hers and Remy's. Finally she found her voice. "I... I think that's enough for this evening. Please get some rest tonight, I need to work on my notes and what we can talk about tomorrow evening."

Remy smirked and got to his feet. "It's a little different when it's the other way 'round, ain't it?" With that he headed out of the room, closing the door silently behind him and leaving Jean sitting at the desk with her emotions in a tangle. She could feel his anger, his self hatred, and it was nearly enough to choke her.

~Five in the Morning~

"What are you doing in here, this early in the morning?" Betsy had come downstairs to the scent of something cooking in the kitchen. She'd expected Jubilee perhaps, sneaking in some microwave hot pockets, not Remy standing by the stove with a hot skillet and oven mitts.

"I got put on the injured roster, no missions for me. So I was makin' breakfast to fill time. Want a pancake?"

She sat down at the table. "Sure, that sounds good. But I didn't know you cooked."

Remy flipped the pancake, then put it on a spare plate before adding some eggs and bacon. He slid it into place in front of her. "I cook when asked nicely, so it not happen a lot here. But I was the one on breakfast duty back home. One of my few useful skills." He took his own seat and worked on his coffee.

Betsy went to work clearing her plate. "Why are you on the injured roster?"

Remy snorted, nearly losing a mouthful of coffee. "Hank say, I gotta get a better handle on my empathic shit before he clears me to go wit' everyone on missions. Some bull 'bout me distracting the team if I get out of control."

Betsy looked up from her plate with a strange expression on her face. "You've been on missions with us before, and it wasn't a problem. Why the change of heart from our resident doctor?"

"He say, I not in balance like before, could make a mess of t'ings if I go along. Not like everyone not celebrating Gambit's stuck in the mansion for a while."

"Well, you could start now on controlling your ability." She set her fork down and gave her full attention to Remy. "I could help you learn how to block others out of your mind, so you'll have that balance."

"Here at the kitchen table?"

She grinned. "Sure, why not?"

He returned the smile, and Betsy could feel the beginnings of his power wash through the room. The emotion was mellow, and felt mentally like warm honey brushing over her. They smiled at each other for a moment

"Hard to get very emotional 'bout breakfast, cherie."

"You called Rogue that too."

The feeling of warm honey was overwhelmed by black tar. "She's never been mine, I see dat now. I was great to have along for a cheap thrill, but she not wanting Gambit full time. She's not back yet, an' I'm kinda thankful for dat."

"Control, Remy. You're leaking emotions all over the kitchen."

That brought on a wan smile. "At least it don't leave stains on the counter. Dat's one good thing, oui?"

That got Betsy laughing. "This is true, no material gunk to clean up. Now, does touch make your power harder to control?"

"Oui, makes it a lot harder to keep from feelin' what every body 'round me going through."

Betsy set her hand on the table between them. "Give me your hand, I want to see the difference."

He blinked at that. "Why you suddenly interested in helping me out? You one of the last bodies I figured would give a damn."

She had to stop and think. "I... I just want you feeling better, and off the injured list. I know sitting around this mansion has got to get boring after a while, compared to being involved in the action of missions."

She closed her eyes and tried to sort through her own emotions. It took her a few moments to realize that he was holding her hand, tracing the edges of her fingers. Warmth spread down her arm, tingling her mind with flashes of images. In someone's arms feeling content. A laugh from a woman leading to a smile. Flashing lights from a club and the hunger to not be alone that night. Rogue leaving him on the ice and devastation.

Somewhere in her mind Betsy realized she was no longer being held by just one hand. His lips tasted of syrup and smoke, his arms were warm around her. The feeling washing over both of them were enough to drop her own defenses, and in a rush came his hunger and self hate.

Finally they had to break the kiss for a breath of air. She murmured almost to herself. "So cold, so alone."

"Dat's where I live, cherie. In the cold, on the outside again."

There was a door slam, and Betsy found herself alone in the kitchen. Remy had left through the door to the back yard.

A voice called from down the stairs. "Oh, who made breakfast?"

Betsy looked around the now empty kitchen. It was empty of people but her, but she could still taste the emotion of loneliness, the feeling of desperation.


	7. Chapter 7

*Usual Disclaimer. I have no rights to these characters, nor do I make any money on these musings. Read and enjoy, thanks so far to those that have followed along. Extra note. I do not mean any copyright infringement with mentioning some electronic toys and a video game.*

~Afternoon~

"There's where we hit the problem, Remy."

He leaned against the wall, smirk planted on his face. "What problem be dat, Jean?"

She sighed. "The problem with having a telepath train an empath. Everyone is empathic to a certain extent, it's not an ability that can be just turned on and off with a whim. Otherwise husbands would be in the dog house more often than they already are, if they couldn't feel the knowledge that they'd screwed up again."

Ha ha, very funny Jean." Scott was up in the control room of the Danger Room, listening in and offering up suggestions.

"Dear, stay out of this. Instructor's orders. Or you can sleep on the couch tonight."

"Yes ma'am, I'll just monitor from here."

"Thank you." Jean turned back to Remy. "Now, as I was saying, the problem with not having a fully trained empath in our teams makes this more difficult than it should be. Like trains like better in most cases. So we'll have to wing it."

"Great, I'm a test dummy. Dat gives me warm and fuzzy feelings."

She grinned. "And I can feel them from here. What you need most of all is a set of shields to protect you from the emotions of others, so you can keep in your own mind what you are feeling, not what everyone around you is going through. Does that make sense?"

"It does, just not sure how to get there."

"We'll start simple. I'm going to project an emotion, and you get to try to block it. Ready?"

Remy stood straight and quit leaning against the wall. "Guess I am." He squared his shoulders and the intense level of concentration filled his eyes.

~Two Hours Later~

"That's it for today, you need a break. So do I, when we get down to it."

Remy was sitting on the floor, soaked in sweat. His hands were trembling from the effort he'd gone through.

"Oui, a break sounds good. I t'ink I've had enough today." He rose to his feet and ran a hand through his hair, once again failing to get all the strands out of his face. Jean didn't look much better, she was sweating and her own hands were not as sure as they usually were. His attempt at shielding had left both of them exhausted, as the unstable shields would collapse at random times. Remy simply couldn't concentrate for too long on those shields without losing their grasp and both of them gasping from emotional overload.

He nodded to her then headed for the door out of the Danger Room, only to bump into Warren just outside in the hall. "So, how did your first attempt in your entire life to control yourself go?"

Remy sighed. "It went well as expected. Why do you care, homme? Not like I gonna be on the active roster for a while. Dat should make you happy."

Warren shoved Remy against the wall and got in his face. "What would make me happy is you leaving the mansion and never coming back. You're nothing more than a loose cannon that'll cause trouble and heartache. Rogue's still not back, after taking a peek in your mind. What did she see, that could be worse than what you did to the Morlocks? What other secrets do you have stored in your slimy mind?"

Jean was heading out the door of the Danger Room when she felt the overwhelming rage roll out of Remy, mirroring the anger she could practically see in Warren's face. "No, don't...!"

That was as far as she got before something exploded in Warren's face, knocking him against the far wall. Rage came off Remy in waves, exasperating the situation as Warren was flooded with the same anger. "You wanna dance with Gambit? Fine, I pick the music."

Before Jean could do anything to head of the fight, there was a wall of ice between the two combatants. "Now let's everyone find their inner cool..."

Jean nodded a silent thanks to Bobby for the frozen creation. "Warren, Remy, this is not going to happen. No fighting in the halls like school children."

It was all that Warren could to not to fly over the wall in front of him. He responded with a petulant voice. "He started it, throwing that burst at me."

"You started it, homme, by gettin' in my face. Take your share of the blame."

Jean looked at the two men. Finally she sighed and motioned down the hall. "Remy, it might be time for a shower and a nap. You did a lot of hard work in the last two hours, and you could use the break to mellow out." He nodded and without taking another look at the frustrated Warren he headed out of the underground halls to the main part of the mansion.

Bobby melted the wall that was no longer needed. Then he turned to his friend. "You might want to give Gambit a chance."

Warren practically ruffled his feathers. "Are you on his team too?"

Bobby offered a hand. "We're all on the same team, Wings. Let's just say I know what it's like to have a power not completely under my control. Remember, when I first came here I had to wear a belt that kept me from coating everything around me in glaze ice. Do you remember?"

"I do remember that belt. You hated it."

Bobby nodded. "Yes, I did. Now it's Gambit in the spot of not controlling a power. So I might not like him that much, but I know he's trying his best. That should count for something."

~That Night~

Logan knocked on the bedroom door one more time. "If yer late to dinner, Gumbo, it's yer own damned fault. Not going to bring yer food in one a silver plate! Now get downstairs." He didn't wait for a reply, but headed down the stairs on his own.

He arrived in the kitchen to see the others waiting. "Remy's being anti-social, so we can start without him tonight. He'll get over himself, I know the boy's hungry."

Jean shrugged and started in on her salad. "He's had a very difficult day, I can understand if he doesn't want to be around a bunch of people at the moment." With that the dinner conversation turned to more open topics.

Scott was washing the dishes after dinner when Betsy came back into the kitchen. He looked up from the suds in the sink. "Forget something down here?"

"Ah, no, I was thinking of taking a few sandwiches up to Gambit. You know he never made an appearance. I know he has to be hungry, when he does show up for meals he's been shoveling down as much as he can fit on his fork."

Scott took a long look at the frying pan in his hands, then put them back under the water for more scrubbing. "I've watched him eat, it's amazing. You'd think he was starving around here, rather than being... back..." He stopped scrubbing and hung his head. "Well shit. Like he was starving all over again..."

"Back on the streets scuffling for a meal I think is what you're trying to say. Can you imagine being hungry enough to eat the plastic off wiring? Like what he did in Antarctica?" She pulled a plate from the drying rack and started making sandwiches. "I can't imagine that kind of desperation, but he's lived it."

"It's no wonder he's kept his distance from everyone but Storm and Logan. Those two seemed to understand him the best, so that's who he stays close to. He doesn't trust us. And I can't blame him on that, not with Bobby and Warren picking on him all the time. I normally wouldn't get involved in inter-team spats, but those two have been laying it on thick since he got back to the mansion."

"Bobby is the closest thing Warren has to a friend, and they were both on the first team of X-Men. It makes sense they'd stick together."

"Hey, I was on that first team too, and I'm not joining in on their harassment." Scott finished up the dishes and set the sink to drain.

Betsy smiled. "That's because you are an efficient leader that knows inter-team spats cause more issues than they get rid of. Part of that leadership is knowing that Gambit's skills, both mutant and his more illicit abilities, come in useful. How many doors has he gotten us past on missions and Ororo isn't on-site?"

Scott laughed at that. "He does have his uses on a team, I'll give you that. I'm heading to bed, it's been a long day. Do you think Gambit's still awake this late? He did have a trying time in the Danger Room."

She smiled. "I'm willing to bet he's still awake. He's also our resident night owl, while the rest of us morning larks are waking at dawn he's sleeping 'till noon if he can get away with it."

Betsy headed out of the kitchen, towards Remy's room on the third floor. Only him and Logan were on that floor on the men's side of the mansion. She knocked on the door to his room. "Remy? Are you awake?" Silence greeted her. Was she wrong and he had gone to bed already? Just as she was about to head back downstairs the door opened.

"Hey cherie, didn't expect to see you up here. What's up?"

She held the plate out. "I figured you were hungry. May I come in?"

"Sure, jus' don't mind de mess. I've not put my laundry up yet."

As she crossed the door threshold, Betsy finally got a look at a room she'd never been in. The bed was the centerpiece of the room, a California King wrapped in dark blue sheets with a green comforter tossed on one side. There were mountains of pillows at the head. The carpeting had been pulled up and the hard wood floors were in pristine condition. The walls were a soft gray, but no pictures were hanging anywhere. More than anything else, the room looked like an upscale hotel room, complete with a hi-definition television mounted on the wall along with a computer desk off to one side.

Strange music was in the background. She looked around for a stereo and couldn't see one, but she could hear the music. Setting the plate of sandwiches on the computer desk, Betsy turned to Remy.

"What band is that?"

"Que?"

"The music. I can't place it, which group is it?"

"Oh. Non, it's not a CD. Just the music background to the game I'm playing to pass some time an' stay mellow." He motioned to the television. "It's not much to watch, but dat's where the music's coming from. Silly little game, but I like it."

Betsy smirked. "You play video games in your spare time?"

He smiled in return. "Oui, but not big splashy fighting or shooting games. Get enough of dat action on missions."

She laughed. "So no Call of Duty for you."

"Not for me, dat's the truth.."

An impulse came over her, and she opened her mouth before she could stop herself. "Do you really want sandwiches for dinner, or would you rather go out?"

Remy blinked. "Not too fond of cold cuts, cherie, but I not allowed out. Remember, Gambit's on the injured listings."

"Oh, that's for missions, not a dinner date."

He raised an eyebrow. "You askin' me on a dinner date?"

Betsy realized that was just what she had done. "Maybe..."

A slow smile made it's way across his face. "Usually Gambit's the one doing the askin', but oui, dinner out wit' you sounds better than wheat bread and ham. I meet you in the garage, I gotta get presentable for goin' out."

With that Betsy walked out of Remy's room. She had to get dressed in better than some sweatpants and a pullover shirt as well, something that wouldn't cause trouble riding on the back of a motorcycle.

~Fifteen Minutes Later~

Entering the garage, Betsy could see Remy already leaning against his motorcycle and grinning. As she came over to him he began to speak. "You look good cherie, nice jeans."

"I figured a dress would get caught in the wheels of that mechanical monstrosity. Now before we get going, where exactly are we going?"

He grinned and straddled the bike, helping her into place behind him. "Dat's the surprise. found a nice place one night, wanna try it again with better company. Feelin' adventurous?"

As she settled into place she laughed. "Everything's an adventure with you, haven't you noticed?"

"Not been paying dat much attention. But you'll like it, the food's good and the music's not too loud for conversation. Unless, you lookin' to fill your stomach on my dime an' we're not gonna talk much."

She snuggled against his back as Remy kicked the motorcycle to life, her arms wrapped around his mid-section. "I think I'll be willing to talk."

"Bein. Let's get movin', before somebody notices I'm not on the grounds. I can hear Logan bitching from here, if he catches me out."


End file.
